


The end of the line

by JovialHarp5159



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Feelings, I mean as much as Stucky can be, Just so many feelings, M/M, Post CACW, canon compliant if you squint, flowery angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 05:54:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11373942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JovialHarp5159/pseuds/JovialHarp5159
Summary: There’s so much wrong, so much he wants to say, wants to fight and scream and rage. Steve had always wondered how the ridiculous couples from all the great tragedies failed to see catastrophe barreling right toward them. Maybe they did. Maybe that love was just worth the unimaginable pain.





	The end of the line

**Author's Note:**

> Kay. So. This is the first time I've written anything for the marvelverse that I actually let people /see/ so like. don't chase me out of town with torches or pitchforks or anything? was originally a Tumblr request from my beta.

Steven Grant Rogers has a stubborn streak a mile and a half wide, and he’s never made it a habit of compromising on his views. Even for Bucky. Especially for Bucky, he thinks, as he picks absently at a loose thread on the cuff of his sleeve. It’s late, or maybe it’s early, the sky is black, and the stars hang precariously, caught in the single moment between flying and falling. The world is quiet, much more quiet than he’s comfortable with, a city boy at heart, lulled to sleep by the sounds of drunken brawls in the streets, sirens, and stray cats prowling alleys and fire escapes, in search of a fight. He scoffs quietly, and throws his gaze down the hill, toward lush jungles, and untamable wilds. God, how he wishes, selfishly, that he could just disappear into those wilds for a while. Slip out of sight, and cease to be the leader, the superior, the man with the plan, with answers to questions that are so ill defined, he can’t even hope to guess at the correct answer. But that isn’t an option for him. Hasn’t been, since a glorified puppet took off without sanction, straight into the jaws of hell in search of the easy-going, insufferable flirt with the lopsided smile. No, Steve isn’t his own man, and he knows it, he damn well knows it. Still, he can’t stop the words that are climbing up his throat, without his permission.

“You’re a fucking idiot, Buck.”

The eyes that consider him now, aren’t the ones he woke up to after every fever, when he had somehow, miraculously survived. They aren’t the ones that he spent countless hours sketching and resketching, hoping to catch their impossible depths. They aren’t even the ones that smiled down at him, dancing with mischief, and sparkling with unspoken emotion, in the midst of a terrible idea. No, these eyes are calculating, judging, zimniy soldat, through and through. They narrow, and size him up with a snipers efficiency, searching him over for weak points, and chinks in his outer armor. Steve almost laughs at the thought. Doesn’t he know that that weakness is him?

“I nearly killed you.”

Steve’s been caught in his own thoughts so long, he nearly jumps when Bucky speaks. He scoffs, derisively and fights back a wry smile. “Didn’t though.”

“Not for lack of tryin’.”

There’s a hint, just a glimpse of Brooklyn accent there, in the dropped syllable, and the soft a, and Steve smiles. “I’m made of stronger stuff than you give me credit for.”

The response is quick, biting, and Bucky turns his head away, flops back into the soft grass, arms behind his head, blue grey eyes avoiding Steve. “Then you can survive with me in cryo.”

Steve’s breath catches, and he’s hurt for maybe a half second before he’s mad. He’s pissed. He surges forward, straddles Buckys thighs, and leans in dangerously close, face inches from his. “You’re a selfish fucking brat” Bucky narrows his eyes, tilts his chin up challenging.

“What do you want from me, Rogers?” his voice wavers just a touch, and his Adams apple bobs, in a silent tic. In that instant, he seems so vulnerable, so approachable that Steve sees the last seventy years melt away before him, until it’s just he and Buck. The way it always was. The way it was supposed to be. He closes his eyes, and his voice shakes nervously.

“You, Buck. Want you.”

There’s maybe an inch of space between them now, and across that small expanse an entire lifetime of regret, and loss span. Bucky closes his eyes, and lets his guard down, finally moves like he’s wanted to since he regained his memory. He leans in, closes the distance and kisses Steve. His Stevie.

There’s a lot to be said for muscle memory, and Steve thanks every lucky star that hangs in the velvet heavens above them, that their bodies haven’t forgotten each other. In a few frantic heartbeats, his lungs tighten and ache like the asthmatic from years before. He shudders, under the weight of every emotion that threatens to crush him. “I-I can’t Buck.” His voice catches, and he bites at the inside of his cheek to steady himself. He won’t do this. He won’t fucking cry. “I can’t do It without you.”

Bucky closes his eyes, and shakes his head. “And I can’t live every day knowing that I could go ballistic, and destroy everything I’ve ever loved, and not even fucking remember it!” Steve leans in again, kisses Bucky slow and deliberate, licking into his mouth in gentle, tentative movements. When Bucky finally pulls away, he’s flushed, all but panting, and Steve thinks, selfishly, that he would gladly watch the world burn if it meant that he could see this desperate, blissed out face whenever he wanted to. He thinks, not for the first time, that maybe death would be ok, as long as Bucky was its harbinger.

“Please, doll. Please don’t leave me. I…” his voice cracks and he hates himself for it. “I’ve missed this.” Bucky ducks his head, presses his forehead to Steves.

“You don’t think I’ve missed this? Sweetheart, what did you think got me through the last year?” when Steve doesn’t immediately answer, he continues, in scarcely above a whisper. “It’s you. It’s always you. You’re everything, the sun the sky…” his voice breaks and the sound shatters Steve on a molecular level. “You’re my home.”

Steve closes his eyes, shakes his head, and swallows hard around the lump that’s formed in his throat. He traces up Bucky’s side in a gentle, sure advance. The brunet whines quietly, a nonconscious sound, and Steve imagines another timeline, another universe where he could take as long as he wanted, break his lover apart, and put him back together in a work of art, a sonnet or strophe, that would still pale, still fail to express his love. The utter disgusting tragedy of it almost makes Steve laugh.

“Buck… I need to know.” He takes a deep breath, forces himself to speak, to give voice to his deepest fears. “Is this the end of the line?”

Bucky squeezes his eyes closed, and a single silvery tear slips down his cheek. Steve thinks, for a moment, about leaning forward, catching it with his tongue.

“Didn’t gettin’ frozen for sixty seven years, and watchin’ me fall off a train teach you anything? The end is never the end. We’ll always find each other.”

Steve nods, and lays down in the soft grass, pulls his boy to rest against his chest. There’s so much wrong, so much he wants to say, wants to fight and scream and rage. But Bucky’s stubborn as he is, and his mind’s made up. Steve cards his fingers through Bucky’s overlong hair, and loses himself in the feel of it, soft and flowing like spun silk. As he starts to drift to sleep, Steve smiles. He had always wondered how the ridiculous couples from all the great tragedies failed to see catastrophe barreling right toward them. Maybe they did. Maybe that love was just worth the unimaginable pain. Bucky sighs and shifts in his sleep, and in that moment, Steve knows. He’ll gladly take the pain. He’ll take all of it. As long as it means he can call Bucky his.

**Author's Note:**

> Join me on Tumblr, @ thejovialkynnadyg-ray, sometimes I do things, like this request!


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